


The prince and the Varglid

by Diane Marling (Lauredessine)



Series: The Sword of Stones [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Boyfriends, Fantasy, Hate Sex, M/M, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauredessine/pseuds/Diane%20Marling
Summary: Aldebrand feels alone, but a warrior seems to devour him with his eyes. A fierce fight ensue.





	The prince and the Varglid

Aldebrand felt something - someone - staring at him. Icy blue eyes riveted on his neck, ferally, hungrily. A shiver ran down his spine and he snapped his head at him: this man. The warrior he had almost fought, almost cut, almost damaged, the man he did not kill - not because he had some unclear feelings towards him - but because he had been shouted at that they were allies. Another day, another battle and he would have most certainly killed him, though it seemed that the watcher had seen quite his fair share of battles considering his cheek asunder, his slit lip and his fresh wounds wrapped in fresh linens. Then, there was his brawny chest, heaving like some mountain-dragon, his forearms as stiff as trunks, his square jaw and his beard, his strange markings traveling up to his neck, arms dark-blue, hair dark blond, teeth stark white.

The man - Aldebrand guessed one of the sea king Einar’s warriors - was almost eating him alive with eyes alone, a playful, lustfully-pleased smirk stretched across his face. His scars made him all the more dangerous - and dangerously attractive. He brushed his thumb over his lower lip and chuckled.

Aldebrand felt heat rise to his cheeks and once his flustering was passed, a brutal anger took him at that man and his hungry eyes. Aldebrand angrily sharpened his sword, eyes dark and wrathful, intently eyeing that warrior. He knew what he was thinking. Humiliations, betrayals, heartbreak. Men were all the same and they had made him feel it all and if for a fleeting moment he might have seemed weak, he had always paid them their due; either beheading, or a stab, or a fight, or a tear, but never fear. Here was not Valmar. Here was a different kingdom, a temporary home until his sister would deem it wise for him to serve her and he would come back and claim his inheritance, estate, riches, castle, troops, title and vengeance. He would not falter and he would not linger.

It was but temporary but he wasn’t naive; even if hither he was respected and almost needed, his rightful place was in Valmar, warring for the rightful queen, and he would need to marry and produce an heir. The idea of a wife made him sigh. Sometimes he wished he was but a petty knight with no woes but a good pint of ale and a good fight.

He was not usually akin to melancholy but being here alone, with no war-mate, no Aenor, no Charibert and no bed-mate made him somewhat forlorn and even if he had spent with Aelys quite a few eventful weeks in the mountains - along with her charming brother - he wasn’t quite as close to her as Einar, or the witch Bronwyn or even the knight Almaric were. He was completely and fully alone and understood with grief that Aenor too, tossed around in the turmoil and cruelty at court. Who knew what Bertulf was doing to her?

He stood up, almost instinctively, ready to ride hard to his sister in a killing spree, but froze and changed his mind. Aenor had not asked for him. He knew her enough to suspect that she was making up a scheme of her own. He huffed and threw his blade right into the ground. He knew he’d blunt it but he was far too angry to notice anymore.

The warrior’s eyes were still locked on him with a blissful delectation which suddenly ignited Aldebrand’s resentment like some brazier. He heavily strode to where the warrior was sitting, surrounded by bellowing ale-mates. The warrior suddenly took notice and slowly stood up, uttering something in a guttural tongue to people far too busy drinking hardly to notice any words. He approached slowly, his grin wider each step he took, two pints in hand.

Aldebrand thought he was going to hit him. “What do you want?” his nostrils flared and he felt venom rise up to his throat.

“Drink.” the man’s voice was deep like thunder and smooth like honey.

Aldebrand felt his heart skip a beat. He eyed the cup with a scornful contempt and tossed it across the clearing, drawing shouts of protest from a small group of women sitting by a campfire.

“You don’t like ale?” the man chugged the rest of his own pint, still grinning.

“Why are you watching me?” Aldebrand seethed, separating each words.

“We almost killed each other, yeah?”

“Reckon so.” he gritted, knuckles white. “You want a fight? Let’s fight.”

The man laughed. “I am Eirik, Eirik son of Olaf, grandson of a king. You are Austrar, right?”

“I don’t care.”

Eirik shrugged. “Well I care about knowing your name. ‘Tis not every man who can cross mountains, bring back the sword-bearer and win a battle. You’re a worthy opponent, and,” his icy eyes traveled from head to toe “quite a fine one.”

The old Dairine said names were of utmost importance. The elders said names gave power. In this realm, he thought his name was better kept in the shadows. “If you want to fight me, fight me. Otherwise, you can gouge your eyes out if you can’t help staring.”

Eirik licked his lips. “Oh I can’t help it alright. It is quite hard not being drawn to you. You seem to me like Spring after Winter.”

Aldebrand felt anger churn in icy sharp waves as his ears reddened at Eirik’s lustful eyes. Aldebrand had never been undressed before but his eyes were just enough to make him feel being completely and utterly stripped of any attire. He leaned closer to Eirik’s face, his lips almost grazing his, feeling his breath on his skin. He almost felt him leaning back, almost felt his pining, almost felt his attraction to his lips. Almost. He was much too enraged to notice anything anymore.

“Leave me alone, or I’ll kill you.”

With that he picked up his sword and headed for an empty space in the darkness, moonlight casting ghostly shadows across a bluish grassy slope.

Erik stood dumbstruck and a clear laughter followed Aldebrand where he was headed. Alone, Aldebrand leaned on a stone, glowing green lines softly bouncing on his over-worn rough tunic - not that he particularly enjoyed the touch of smooth and silky satin on his skin.

He suddenly snapped as twigs creaked from under a heavy weathered boot. He raised his sight to the frame of Eirik, the Vaneling. Aldebrand despised them, thinking them uncouth and rude. Eirik seemed adamant in proving his thoughts true.

In a quick motion, Aldebrand was up, fists clenched, gritty and angry. His short-lived peace seemed over for good. He glared at him, eyes glowing with the moon, brows furrowed, squinting in a feral snarl. He had no notion of how close Eirik was to the sea king Einar, but prince or not, Aldebrand would behead him. If there was something he was good at, it was this: slaughter.

His knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword.

“Fight!” Aldebrand huffed.

“And jeopardize such fine carvings? I think not.”

Aldebrand sneered. “Do you truly believe that you have a shot against me? I’ll kill you in a motion and you think about the stones.”

Eirik eyed him once again, this time, awe in his every feature, his cocky smile gone, hunger blazing in his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking about the stones.” a breath.

It was almost tempting giving in to the man's charms. He had beauty and strength and Aldebrand briefly pictured his massive arms, his strong hands, his brawny chest against his; almost lost himself in the fantasy of his claiming him raw and loud. Almost. He knew all too well that love and lust were a thing he couldn't dream of. Lovers were traitors. Men were captors. His love was ungodly and he had been proven it over and over. Love was venom. Lust was a curse.

His nostrils flared, his anger burst in flames. He gripped his sword and attacked Eirik who dodged the heavy blow to unsheathe his own blade with a lick on his lips and a pleased smile. The Austrar metal crashed against the Vaneling, the blade quivering, weakening. Austrars were said to be as strong as gods. The Vanelings were children to a god. God to god, their blows were uncanny and if Aldebrand's sword was stiffer and stronger, Erik was steadfast and vigorous.

They parried blow after blow, knee down when needed, stepping back more than once, growls escaping their lips, snarls and grit moving the earth around lit by the stones. Eirik brought down his blade and Aldebrand quickly captured the guard and tossed it away with the tip of his blade. Eirik punched him, ax in both hand and Aldebrand recoiled at the impact.

Eirik was quick in maneuvering his axes. Those were not his sturdy stiff blade that kept him in a steady stance. Those were light shafts and light steel and it allowed him more freedom.

Aldebrand yawled, kicking Eirik's knees to wreak him down, but the warrior would not falter. Aldebrand answered to this lighter way of fighting by his dancing, sword in hand, a lethal array of grace and brutality. He would smite and his blade would cut. The shafts were soon lumbered to nothing and Aldebrand punched Eirik's jaw hard, clasped his fist around his collar and pinned him against the stone, panting, sweating, his chest heaving with each breath.

He could smell his opponent's musky scent, feel his sweat drip to his fist, sense his hardening. He nearly burst in rage once again as he discovered a wry smile in the darkness, panting becoming moans of their own. Slowly, he slid his blade right under Eirik's chin and pressed him harder against the stone.

“What do you want with me?” Aldebrand seethed with mad ire. “Revenge? Fun? Mockery?”

Eirik eyed his lips hungrily. “I was thinking about sex but if you are into those things more...” he shrugged.

Aldebrand pressed harder, almost choking the Vaneling. “I am a man.”

“I am aware.”

“Why, then, mention such an act so lightly?”

“You're pretty.”

“Do you wish death so much?”

Eirik gave something between a groan and a sigh. “We all die, that's what I know. But the great Vane has not yet thought my death. Mine is not now.”

“Then why?” Aldebrand seethed, leaning closer.

“You're pretty. I'm handsome. You're strong, I'm mighty. I wonder what prowess you and I would achieve. In bed, that is.”

“I am a man.” Aldebrand's voice had grown softer somehow. “And you're a man.”

Eirik gave something resembling a booming laughter. “You have eyes I reckon.”

“It is unseemly.”

“Bronwyn sits on the three-fingered-throne and she sleeps with Aelys and my cousin Einar. I want to have sex with you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Aldebrand seemed to falter for a moment but got a hold of himself. “I have been betrayed and shamed by lovers before. You'll use it to get at me.”

Eirik rolled his eyes. “Where did you grow up to be so uptight?! By the gods!”

Aldebrand pressed harder.

“What? Are you not attracted to me?”

Aldebrand shook his head. “That's not it.”

“What? Are you not attracted to men?”

Aldebrand gave something resembling choking. “That's not it.”

“Then what?”

He pressed the blade harder. “You would kill me.”

“It seems to me you are the one with a blade on my throat.” Eirik's smile grew cocky. “It seems to me like you are a man of power, a man of honor. It seems to me that I know your name.”

Aldebrand leaned, menacing, to Eirik's face. “Allow me to doubt you.” he growled.

“Oh you should doubt me. But not on that, young prince.”

Aldebrand flinched. “I am a bastard.”

“So is Einar and look at where it led him.”

“I am a knight.”

“I see that. Your sword is quite a mighty one.” His eyes traveled to Aldebrand's crotch.

Aldebrand felt himself blush as Eirik trailed his body with his eyes. But instead of faltering, Aldebrand pinned Eirik farther onto the stone, as to mold him inside, breaking his bones, squashing his flesh, damaging him whole. “I'll kill you.”

His lips quivered with rage, his whole face quaked under his irate words. There was no withstanding this. Eirik would die on the spot.

Eirik grinned. His tongue brushed his teeth, caressed his lips, teeth softly digging into his lower lip. Aldebrand's lips were an inch from his. It was too enticing of a temptation not to give in. It was a tongue's reach. Close, so close. The hunger welled into Eirik's core, his lust enhanced by the knight's blade on his throat. It was too good, too violent, too martial for a Varglid.

Eirik smirked. He would consume him raw.

His tongue tentatively grazed Aldebrand's lips, the tip of it a faint caress as to rile up lust and desire. Aldebrand flustered, chest heaving at the closeness of Eirik's lasciviousness, his brawn, his strong hands, his soft eyes, his handsome – oh so handsome – figure. His grip on the sword tightened as he tried not to give in.

But it was no use. Eirik worked his leg in between Aldebrand's and rubbed his groin with his thigh, drawing moans and a frantic breathing from his opponent who would become – gods willing – his lover.

Eirik licked his lips, a cruel smile spreading. His tongue ventured closer to Aldebrand's own lips now, but changed path and trailed his throat.

Aldebrand was red now. Red and painfully hard.

“Fuck me now, kill me later. What do you think?” Eirik sultrily whispered, his voice a raw moan.

Aldebrand dropped the sword and groped Eirik's neck. The Vaneling's hand gripped his tunic tight and forced his face closer, always closer, so that Eirik's lips were an inch to his. He smiled again and slowly, almost hesitantly, he brushed them with his tongue.

Aldebrand's response was immediate. With a low growl, he pressed his lips against Eirik's, claiming him with a violent desire. He felt Eirik's tongue caress his, could hear his groans, could feel his strong chest and his powerful hands, that roamed his back, nails digging into his flesh. His legs wavered, his head spun, his cock hardened.

He hastily removed Eirik's tunic and was awestruck for a moment at the Varglid's sculptural body, laden with white scars, testimony of a life on the battlefield.

He was beautiful.

“Ah.” Aldebrand moaned.

His hands traveled the white scars, his fingertips barely a caress. Eirik bit his lips, unfastened his belt and stripped himself off, offering to the forest around – and his lover – the beauty of his naked body.

With urgency, Aldebrand stripped himself bare and resumed his kisses fortwith, his hands never leaving Eirik's throat. He gave a surprised gasp as Eirik's hand snaked its way to his cock and groaned with an ecstatic delight as Eirik's nimble fingers worked their way around the shaft. Eirik's other hand worked around his own cock, his moans loud against Aldebrand's mouth.

His head jerked back, Aldebrand's arms failed and he pressed them against the stone, seemingly about to grip it. He was red and hard and he could feel himself come, the feeling a warm thing in his lower belly.

Eirik seized the occasion to trail his lover's throat with kisses and gentle tongue caresses. His hands traveled from cock to ass and he drew him closer, both hands gripping the Austrar's flesh. Cock against cock, they heaved up and down, their pleasure low feral sounds, eyes glistening and wet through and through. Eirik even allowed himself some spanking and firmer groping which had the effect of making Aldebrand bite his lover's lips to make him stop.

Eirik parted Aldebrand's buttcheek and slid into his ass one finger, then two, to which Aldebrand answered with his teeth digging into Eirik's neck, moaning, heaving, arching his back as Eirik's fingers went back and forth inside him. His teeth were covered with blood, Eirik's skin colored blue, Aldebrand felt himself on the verge of a delightful fury. There was no need for gentleness. Not now, not with him.

Eirik's cock hardened more if it were still even possible. Aldebrand's breath was hot in the crook of his neck. He wanted him. He wanted him raw and harsh. He wanted him in all his martial glory.

Suddenly his face was against the stone, Aldebrand's hand firmly pinning his arm to his back, the other hand against the cold grey. It faintly glowed and for a moment Aldebrand saw Eirik, flustered, grinning, on the verge of coming, laid flat against the megalith. Groping Eirik's ass, Aldebrand rubbed his cock between the buttcheeks and Eirik moaned and moaned, his cock rubbing against the stone. It was rough, hurt and sent him on the verge of extasy.

Then Aldebrand thrust his dick inside Eirik, keeping his rear pinned to his front, though keeping him pressed against the stone, releasing his arm only to slide it around Eirik's neck. The Varglid's back arched, his hands gripped what was in front of him and he let himself tossed back and forth as his breath cut short, his moans intensified and his smile widened. He no longer cared about his men at this point. He just hoped his screams of utter pleasure conveyed how good of a lover the young prince was.

His face leaned to the prince's, lips grazing, tongue wet and hot against his. His tongue mingled with the Austrar's, he seized his lips and moaned against his lips, parting only when Aldebrand's thrust proved much too violent, a thin link of saliva being a fleeting faint proof of their violent kiss.

Aldebrand's thrust hardened, faster, faster, always faster. His heart pounded, his legs wavered, his voice broke, his moans thundered. He was but pleasure and he came, loud and clear against the green glow of the old stones, and parted from his momentary lover who turned around, throat red, oozing with cum and blood, yet smiling as though he had won a war.

His thumb brushed Aldebrand's lower lips and the prince couldn't resist but kiss the fingertip. Eirik exhaled slowly with utter satisfaction. Aldebrand seemed to hover over the whole situation before it dawned on him what he had done, anger, resentment and shame settling in.

Eirik's kiss was soft and gentle. “You love like you fight.” his voice held admiration, awe even.

“Which means?” Aldebrand's voice was hoarse and ragged.

“Like a god.”

Aldebrand clicked his tongue, jaw set. “And now what?” he picked up his sword. “I fuck you and I kill you. That was the bargain, right?”

Eirik eyed the sword and grinned. “I have a few objections to that.”

“Which are?”

“That you are a fantastic lover and I want to do you more than once.” he said dressing up slowly. “That I will probably kill you out of luck and that it would be a shame killing a handsome man such as yourself.” he picked up his own sword. “And that it would be too great a sacrifice to pay for warcraft if you ever were to die.”

“Why?” Aldebrand snarled.

“Isn't it clear? I want to see it again. I want to see you on the battlefied again. With me or against me, I don't care. I want to feel the taste of your steel and that of yourself.” Eirik laughed. His eyes traveled to Aldebrand's crotch. “And perhaps, you might come to like me. They all do.”

“All but me.”

Eirik sighed. “What can I say? I never could resist a challenge!”

Aldebrand growled.

“Next time, we fight, and we fuck. Next time it will be my turn.” Eirik sultrily grinned.

“There will be no next time.” Aldebrand seethed.

“There will.” Eirik's voice was but confidence. “In the meantime, I will think about you.” he winked.

He was about to take his leave when Aldebrand seized his arm. “You are not my type. And you are definitely not to brag about it to your men. You are not to shame me.”

“Is it a shame, my prince, to display the mark of your teeth on my skin, is it a shame for all men to know that you are fearsome both in bed and in the battlefield? What you bestowed upon me are not to shame you, but to praise you. I'll testify of that and those who will jeer at you or shame you, I'll make sure they know I was the one to beg for it. I'll make sure they be silent.” once again he brushed Aldebrand's lips with his. “That said, secrecy has already been broken. I am afraid I screamed more than reasonable. Hard not to when confronted to a lover as pleasurable as yourself. I could hardly help myself. You are too good to have, and my men are now sure of it.”

“You...” Aldebrand seethed, anger welling in.

“Tell me, do you smile?” Eirik suddenly said with narrow eyes.

Aldebrand was dumbstruck. “Only when I feel like it.”

“I'll make sure to remember that.” Eirik chuckled. “Now, enough with the loneliness and come feast with us. Arnor is a fine jester. Who knows, maybe you have a good smile?”

Aldebrand was frozen, hands loose against his side.

“Oh come now, we had sex. The time for shyness is passed. Come and drink with me.” his mouth grazed his ear. “Come and sleep with me.” he murmured.

Aldebrand had to admit how good of a lover Eirik was. He rarely had felt so himself, so powerful with a lover before and if their antics had been brutal to the utmost, he also knew that he wanted tenderness and Eirik seemed to him able to give him that. For a moment he wondered what it would feel like, locking eyes with him, genly stroking his hair, softly murmuring words to his ears. He wondered about the softness of his lips and he wondered about how much Eirik seemed to understand his way of living.

He loathed himself for that weakness.

“You are a capable lover, I reckon.” Aldebrand confessed.

“Ha! Many men and women can testify of that!” Eirik almost gloated.

“But I don't do love. I don't do any of this.”

Eirik shrugged. “Do me, then.”

Then Aldebrand laughed which made Eirik beam with satisfaction. “Next time we fight. If you win, I'll let you have me. If I win, either I kill you or... Oh well, we'll see in time.”

Eirik's laughter boomed amidst the trees. “Very well then! I like your spirit, Aldebrand.”

“I'll wreak you down.”

“Oh I hope so.” Eirik winked. “Until then, know that my tent is open for you, should you want to venture over there.”

“Then know that my blade is at the ready.”

That same grin spread across Eirik's face and the Varglid waved his hand goodbye and exited the lonely clearing and its glowing stone, its magic and that pleasure he had found there.

Aldebrand was alone again, chest bare, hair tousled. He watched as Eirik walked away, feeling lonely and oddly satisfied. He knew not what he had found there, but Eirik was definitely something of note, if not for his utter confidence, but for his desire and his willingness to fight even in love. There was almost something admirable to it, something that unveiled only at night.

Aldebrand let himself sink on his butt and buried his head in his arms.

“Forgive me sister.” he whispered. “There seems to be a little interest here after all.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this piece to get around Aldebrand and Eirik's dynamic if I ever want to write a sequel for the sword of stones and I imagine that their dynamic would be: very discrete and civil at day and rough, sensual and passionate at night. Because Aldebrand has a lot of issues with his sexuality, one being that he was forced to repress it all of his life and it is not easy for him to suddenly feel okay with that, especially considering how often he's had his heart broken. Hopefully Eirik will manage to ignite some confidence into him and help him fully embrace who he is.


End file.
